


rupture point

by SparklyWitch



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: (but not really), 2x14, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Betrayal, F/M, break up of some sorts, the hallway confrontation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:06:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22026043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparklyWitch/pseuds/SparklyWitch
Summary: The hallway confrontation gone a little differently. Because Laurel is as done with Oliver as he seems to be with her.
Relationships: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen
Comments: 28
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This short OS was born out of frustration tbh. I haven't watched Arrow since's Laurel death, but lately I've been going through some of her scenes on YT and, as usual, ended up reading some pretty dumb comments about how she needed the wake up call Oliver gave her in 2x14. And while I do agree that *someone* needed to shake Laurel a little, it should not have been Oliver, or any member of her family for that matter. Because they were part of the problem, they were the main reason Laurel ultimately gave up, and I will always be a little bitter that the character never got the apologies she deserved.
> 
> It should have been Joanna. Or Thea. Or, hell, even a complete stranger. Not Oliver.

It’s hard to understand at first, to fully grasp the sheer ridiculousness of the scene happening right in front of her.

Oliver’s presence at their family dinner should have been a dead giveaway— and how the man could have possibly believed that it was okay for him to show up at her apartment is beyond her— but somehow Laurel had managed to convince herself that he was only here for moral support. Inappropriate, perhaps, but understandable.

That’s what she chooses to believe until she can’t anymore. How ironic that in her desperation to be proven wrong, she finds the very proofs giving life to her assumptions. The quick, affectionate glances Oliver keeps throwing Sara’s way. The shy, tender smiles on her sister’s face when she looks at her ex-boyfriend. It’s all there, barely hidden, a sick show thrown into Laurel’s face without a care in the world.

Bile rises in her throat. They’re in her _home_ , her safe place, she had invited Sara as a peace offering, a last-ditch attempt to fix their broken family, and they’re—…. Does she mean absolutely nothing to them? Don’t they have even a semblance of respect for her?

In front of her, she sees Dinah observing Sara and Oliver critically, eyes flickering between them with carefully concealed incredulity that Laurel only catches because she’s hopelessly searching for it, for a clear sign that she’s not going crazy, that is just plain _wrong_. She just—… Laurel just wants some support, even if it’s only given silently, but then Dinah clears her throat, offers some more rice to Oliver, and she knows she won’t find it from her mother. 

Laurel then turns towards her father, gut twisting into a painful knot as she sees the tensed smile on his lips, hears the strained laughter he forces out of his throat at one of Sara’s jokes. Quentin won’t say anything either. He’s got his daughter back, his family is reunited once more, and he won’t risk disturbing the perfect picture they all pose, even if it’s only an illusion. A nice, enchanting illusion that is happening at Laurel’s expense.

Their eyes meet accidently, because it’s clear that Quentin is trying to avoid her gaze, and there’s a small flicker of guilt coursing through her father’s warm brown eyes before he breaks contact and focuses a little too intently on Dinah’s story. It must be a funny one, because Sara suddenly bursts into peals of laughter to the utter pleasure of her parents who gaze upon their little girl with utter adoration.

A part of Laurel gets it. Sara is their precious miracle, the answer to years of prayers they thought would be forever left unanswered. In the space a few dreamlike hours, Laurel had basked into that same blissful joy too, willing to forgive anything, forget everything, if it meant having her little sister back in their lives, safe and sound.

That was before Quentin had managed to convince her that it was all in her head, before Laurel had found Sara in their parents’ protective embrace and understood just how manipulated she had been from the start.

The nausea is getting stronger now and Laurel tries to swallow it back, tries to push past the sickly flow of anger and bitterness clawing up her throat and leaving it raw. Familiar as she is with the feeling of betrayal, she’s nearly forgotten how completely devastating it could be.

God, she needs a drink. She needs an entire bar. She needs to be away from these people who’ve sucked all the energy out of her and left her with nothing. She needs—…

_I need to get out_ , Laurel thinks a little frantically. _Right now_.

Just as the thought crosses through her mind, some inner sense she can’t begin to explain makes her look up.

Oliver’s stare burns into her. Laurel meets it unflinchingly and for a few endless seconds nothing else seems to exist as they confront each other silently. He doesn’t try to look away, doesn’t try to hide, just keeps cautious grey eyes on her as if he’s afraid she’s going to do something rash. Or perhaps she should see it more like a challenge. Something in the lines of “ _You tried to have my mother killed, so now I’m fucking your sister. Again. We’re even_.”

Laurel doesn’t even know anymore. She doesn’t know _him_ anymore. Perhaps she never did. A part of her will always remember Oliver Queen as the kind boy from her childhood. Her best friend who later became her lover. Did that cloud her judgment so badly that she would rather cling onto an illusion rather than face the reality of what he’s become?

He came back from the island with heartfelt apologies and she had believed him. Swore that he was a changed man and she had believed him. Professed his love for her and _she had believed him_.

Laurel schools her features into an impassible mask, willing her heart to turn into stone, willing it to stop hurting already. Oliver seems to sense the imperceptible change in her, because something akin to panic suddenly flickers though his eyes.

Next to her, Sara sounds uncertain. “Ollie?”

Quentin puts a hesitant hand on her elbow. She barely notices. “Laurel.”

They don’t spare the others a glance, aren’t even aware enough of their surroundings to detect the tensed and questioning silence settling over the room, locked as they are into an impossible standstill, a battle of wills that Laurel refuses to lose.

_“You are more important to me than anyone.”_

_“There was something I wanted more.”_

_Liar_ , she wants to shout, feels the scream surging from somewhere deep inside, kept silent only by the impenetrable shield of her tightly closed lips and as devastating as acid corroding everything in its wake. _You worthless, backstabbing liar_.

Like two pieces of the same well-oiled machine, they both get from their seats at the same time and Laurel hates it, she hates that Oliver can still read her and anticipate her moves so easily, hates the strange mix of desolation and frustration twisting his features as he looks at her, she just _hates him_.

Shaking her head in disgust, Laurel sharply pulls her arm from her father's grip, insensible to his confused calls, makes a beeline for her bag and jacket and leaves her suffocating apartment without looking back, slamming the front door hard enough to shake walls.

Barely a few seconds later, that same door opens again and Laurel hears the sounds of quick footsteps following her. “Hey!” Of course Oliver would be completely disrespectful of her clear need for space, _of course_.

Laurel doesn’t turn around, trembling under the force of her anger, and just keeps pressing on the elevator button, as if that could somehow bring her means of escape faster. “You are unbelievable,” she seethes.

She feels him crowding her space. “Laurel—…”

“I don’t want to hear it,” she grits out between her teeth. “No more excuses, Oliver. I’m done.”

Oliver grabs her shoulder, forces her to turn around, makes her face him, and she would laugh at the annoyance currently painting his face if it wasn’t so damn typical of him. He betrays her _again_ , makes a fool out of her _again_ , but somehow _she’s_ the one in the wrong.

Damn him. Damn him and damn her for welcoming this man into her life in the first place, for not being smart enough to sense the danger, for forgiving him at all.

No more.

“You’re being unreasonable,” Oliver says, unperturbed by the bitter laugh that escapes Laurel. “Come back inside. This is your family, and you owe them—…”

“I owe them nothing,” Laurel spits out. “And I owe you even less. Let go.”

Oliver’s eyes harden with an anger that only matches Laurel’s. “I have stood by you through _everything_ ,” he says in a soft, nearly dangerous tone of voice that she’s never heard him use before. “Losing your job, doing drugs, my mother’s trial, and I’m still here. Laurel, do you—… Do you think you’re the only one—… Do you have _any_ idea what my family is going through right now?”

“I don’t, but I’m not at the center of your family issues, am I?” she snaps back.

At last, the metal doors next to her open with a “ding” and Laurel slaps Oliver’s hand away, escaping his grip and entering the elevator.

“Go ahead, blame me for ruining your life,” Oliver calls harshly behind her. “Blame Sara. Blame Tommy too if you think that’ll make you feel better. But at some point, Laurel, you’re going to have to stop blaming everyone but yourself.”

How dare he? _How dare he?_ “Screw you, Oliver,” she growls, feeling this close to punching him in the face.

“I have loved you for half my life,” he says with a little shake of his head, as if that means anything, as if Sara isn’t currently waiting for him back inside her apartment. “But I’m done running after you.”

_Your love is poison_ , she wants to scream. _Your love is toxic and treacherous and it takes and takes and takes without ever giving anything back and I want nothing to do with it anymore_.

Laurel meets his gaze, wills her voice to be even and strong, if only to make him understand just how much she means her next words.

From the bottom of her heart, she means them.

“Good.” Oliver blinks and she can tell she’s taken him off guard with her answer. “I don’t _want_ you to run after me. In fact, I want _nothing_ to do with you anymore. What I want, Oliver, is for you to _get out_ of my life, for good this time. No more promises, no more second chances. Because _I_ am done believing in _you_.”

He takes a step back, looking a little ill, her words seeming to hit him square in the chest. Laurel can’t bring herself to feel guilty about it. She’s having enough trouble with the strange tearing sensation in her stomach as it is.

Breath caught and choking in her throat, she tears her eyes away from the heartbreak twisting Oliver’s features. “I need some air. When I come back, I want you all gone.”

Oliver sounds absolutely miserable, nearly as drained as she is. “Laurel—…”

“All of you,” she repeats and if her voice is a little too thick this time, well, no one has to know.

The doors close on a frozen Oliver and it’s only once Laurel feels the elevator going down that she lets go of her tight control. Her face crumples, tears welling up in her eyes as she presses her jacket against her mouth to muffle the sounds of her sobs.

When that doesn’t work, she pressed even harder and _screams_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Laurel Lance needs more love in this fandom :)
> 
> I apologize in advance for any gramatical or spelling errors you are likely to find in your reading. I tried.

In some strange, unexplainable ways, a part of Laurel is grateful for that disastrous dinner. If anything, it helped her reevaluate some of the less than stellar life decisions she’s been making lately.

After storming out of her apartment, Laurel had ended up wandering aimlessly in the streets of Starling City, determined to put as much distance between the object of her rage and herself. She had craved the taste of whisky, could already imagine the comforting weight of a good bottle in her hand, had desperately wanted to feel the golden liquid flowing down her throat.

A bar should have been her destination, and yet the simple thought of putting a foot in one of those establishments had made her nauseous. Her parents’ pitying gazes and Oliver’s judgmental words would not leave her thoughts, haunting mercilessly, and somehow her need to prove them wrong, to prove them all wrong, had won over her frantic need to drench her thirst.

She would not give them the satisfaction.

So Laurel had kept her head down, bit her lips hard enough to draw blood when the urge to drink became too strong, kept walking until she found herself in front of what used to be CNRI.

The sight of the old building broke something in her.

Faced with the ruins of her old life, Laurel could no longer find the strength to stand. She had fallen on her knees, buried her face in her hands and cried all the tears she’d refused to shed in front of Oliver, let out everything she had forcedly buried inside since that fateful day where Malcolm Merlyn unknowingly killed his son and she had acted as his unwilling accomplice.

She could still hear the echoes of her own screams calling for Tommy, could still remember the strong grip of her father’s hands on her arms, keeping her away from the destruction, stopping her from going back inside in to search for Tommy.

It should have been her.

When she had returned to her apartment hours later, the place was thankfully empty. And clean. Table cleared and leftovers stored in the fridge, a note left for her on the kitchen counter with her mother’s writing on it. Laurel hadn’t even bothered to read it, just cast a tired look around the place before locking herself in her bathroom and taking a long, needed shower.

That night, she had finally gotten rid of her secret stash. The day after that, she was attending her first AA meeting.

It’s still hard. Some days are worse than the others. Some days, she craves the taste of alcohol so badly that her whole body seems to shake with it and she’s left thinking that she’s going to die if she doesn’t get a drink. But she never does. Somehow, she holds on, grits her teeth and manages to resist until the urge passes.

Her mom went back to Central City a few days after the failed family reunion. She’s tried calling a few times, but Laurel simply doesn’t have it in her to answer her questions or listen to her endless admonitions. Her dad is more persistent though, and Laurel quickly finds out that it’s easier to answer his phone calls at least once a day, less he invites himself into her apartment and refuses to leave despite her clear desire for solitude.

Quentin tries to approach the subject of Sara exactly once. Thankfully, the look on Laurel’s face is enough to deter him.

He’s biding his time, Laurel knows. Waiting for the right moment to throw another attempt at reconciliation and bring his daughters back together again. And Laurel gets that. She does. Actually, her mind’s been clearer than it’s been in months, gone is the haze of alcohol that has been clouding her thoughts up until now, and now that she can think rationally again… well… Laurel regrets how she allowed things to go down with Sara.

Still, she won’t apologize for being rightfully angry. She’s spent too long doing so, using the bigger picture as an excuse to bury the worst of her rage and heartbreak, putting on a smiling façade that simply made things easier for everyone. Dinah. Quentin. Oliver.

Now, Sara’s back. With a body that can be touched, a voice that can be heard, no longer a ghost haunting them but a corporeal being that came back into their lives as a miracle. Because that’s what she is. Sara Lance is a miracle. And Laurel can fully embrace that now. But it’s too soon. Sara hasn’t tried to contact her either, so she must be feeling the same way. Clearly, they’re not ready to face each other yet, so Laurel does nothing, prefers to focus on herself for once.

The truth is, there are very few options that are available to her right now. With the State Bar Association preparing to fill disbarment proceedings against her and her professional reputation scorched to hell, it seems improbable that Laurel could ever find her way back into a law career. Even if the decision was ruled in her favor, it would take years to fix her tarnished reputation.

Laurel’s a lawyer. It’s in her blood, it’s what she is. Even when she had nothing, she had her job. She can’t imagine ever doing anything else. What else can she do but prepare her defense and hope for the best?

Still, Laurel can’t deny that the passion of the beginning is no longer there. She loved working at CNRI, loved the connections she would form with her clients, loved the human contact. It felt like she was actually making a difference there, like she was helping Starling City heal, one case at a time. It felt good, like she was doing something that mattered and had a positive impact.

Laurel used to be proud of her work. And it’s a real punch in the gut to realize that she hasn’t felt that way in a long time.

After the undertaking, something else had driven her. Another sort of anger than the one she’s been feeling and keeping locked up since Sara’s death. Something more akin to hatred, a poison in her veins she could not cure. Merlyn was gone, but he wasn’t alone in his desire to destroy the Glades, and Laurel had needed the ones responsible for the undertaking pay for what they did. She had needed to fight for some semblance of justice for the victims. Justice for Tommy.

Instead, she found herself prosecuting Moira Queen. Moira the criminal. Moira the victim. Oliver and Thea’s mother. A woman whom, despite everything, Laurel still highly respected and cared for.

No, Laurel no longer felt proud of her work. Instead, she found herself suffocating in shame and guilt, so disgusted with herself that she was often unable to even face her reflection in the mirror.

Intellectually, she knows she has nothing to feel guilty about. As much as she cares about Moira, she _had_ been guilty of the crimes she was accused of.

Still, guilt is a strange feeling.

Maybe that’s why she finds herself looking at an old photo album after another AA meeting. It’s easy to lose herself in the memories, harder to recognize the young girl so full of dreams and hopes that she used to be. 

Her eyes settle on an old picture of Tommy from high school and a small smile paints her lips as she slowly traces his face with the tip of her fingers.

« I miss you, » she says quietly.

A knock on the front door pulls her out of her musing.

Frowning, Laurel pushes aside the thick album and gets up from the couch. It’s probably her dad coming to check on her. Again.

_What does he not understand in ‘leave me alone’?_

The vision of the unexpected visitor that awaits for her on the other side of the door renders her speechless.

Sara gives a little embarrassed smile. « Hi. »

Laurel blinks, half convinced that she’s hallucinating. When she finally speaks, her voice comes out harsher than what she intended. « What are you doing here? »

Sara flinches, swallowing nervously. « Can I come in? »

_No_ , Laurel wants to scream. _I’m not ready!_

But that’s not what she says. Instead, she nods uneasily and opens her door wider to let Sara pass.

Sara takes a few steps into the apartment, looking around her like she’s never seen the place before. Maybe she doesn’t quite know what to say yet and is buying some time.

Not that Laurel blames her. She doesn’t have a clue what to say either.

At some point, the awkward silence between them becomes unbearable and Laurel starts fumbling with the coffee maker, something to keep her hands occupied.

« I was just about to make some coffee, » she says, forcing a casual tone. « But if you want some tea, I think I still have a bad or two somewhere in here. »

« Coffee is fine. » Sara clears her throat. « Dad told me you were doing much better now, attending your AA meetings and everything. »

Laurel stills.

As if sensing the sudden change of mood, Sara hurries to explain. « I mean, he was only telling me this because he’s so happy and he couldn’t help but share it, you know? He’s so proud of you. Mom too. » Something suddenly changes in her tone. « You would know if you answered her calls. »

Laurel closes her eyes and inhales slowly. Once she’s certain she’s not going to throw some petty remark back, she says « Yeah, well, I have my own reasons for not wanting to talk to Mom right now. »

« I’m sure you do, » Sara remarks coolly. « You always do. »

Brows furrowed, Laurel turns towards her sister. « Excuse me ? »

Sara doesn’t look at her, just keeps all her attention focused on a painting that Laurel knows is just not that interesting. She looks strangely vulnerable here, out of place in Laurel’s cozy apartment and seemingly trying to appear as small as possible, aware that her presence here is unwelcomed and unwanted.

A wave of sadness washes over Laurel. « Sara, » she presses with a sigh after her sister’s prolonged silence. « What are you talking about ? »

Sara swallows back her apparent nervousness before turning to face Laurel once more, looking simultaneously unsure and determined. « I was in my senior year. Oliver had just been kicked out of Brown and Tommy threw a party to welcome him home. Do you remember? »

More than a little confused by the sudden change of subject, Laurel can only nod. Of course, she remembers. Not because of the party itself, she had only been there because Oliver and Tommy both insisted on her presence and left as quickly as she had come, but because of the utter mortification she had felt when Tommy called her later on that night : « _hey, Laurel, listen your Dad kinda dragged us to the station and I’m pretty sure Ollie is about to get himself killed by a very pissed off cop, so could you please –… oh my god, what the fuck, Oliver, NO –_ … »

She also remembers storming into the police station like a fury, getting into it with her Dad in front of what seemed to be a legion of cops.

« You’re the one who tipped Dad off, » Sara says accusingly with just a small amount of challenge in her voice, like she wants to dare Laurel to deny it.

She won’t deny it. She doesn’t need to. « Well, yes, I did, » she groans as she remembers that night. « You had sneaked out of the house and wouldn’t answer your phone. I made the mistake of answering _mine_ and had the unpleasant surprise of being confronted by Mom and Dad. They were freaking out and Dad was talking about filling a missing person report, so I just told them you were with me and that we would keep an eye on you. » She shrugs, can’t help the small smile twisting her lips at the memory.

They had been so innocent, back then. When did they all become so damaged?

« Is that why you did it ? » Sara asks with a touch of disbelief in her voice. « To reassure Mom and Dad ? »

Laurel frowns. « What’s that supposed to mean? »

Sara bites her lower lip, a clear sign of her apprehension, and a small part of Laurel is relieved to see that not everything about her little sister has changed these past 7 years. Perhaps some things are simply meant to stay constant.

« I sneaked out to see Oliver, » Sara says. « Because I had feelings for him, even back then. You knew that, Laurel. »

Laurel blinks, absolutely flabbergasted. « I knew you had a crush on him, » she says carefully.

Of course she did. How could she not? Growing up, Oliver and Tommy had been her best friends, the three of them forming a strong and inseparable unit. And they used to spend a lot of time over at her house, so no, even if she had wanted to, Laurel couldn’t have ignored the way Sara’s eyes seemed to light up every time Oliver would stop by.

She had honestly believed it to be nothing more than a childish crush, of the sorts Thea used to harbor for Tommy. Perhaps she shouldn’t have. Perhaps she should have seen her sister’s feelings for what they were, real and deep enough to hurt. Perhaps she should have realized that there was a genuine pain hidden behind the « old married couple » jokes Sara used to throw at her and Oliver.

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? Even back then, Sara _knew_ that Laurel’s bond with Oliver went beyond mere friendship.

The only reason she and Oliver waited as long as they did to finally cross the boundaries of their relationship and give a chance to that something more that seemed to have always defined them is because Laurel had been terrified of ruining everything. There was a point in her life where Oliver had been her support, a strong pillar she could lean on and trust to hold her up when she couldn’t stand on her own. Losing him was unacceptable, his friendship was too important to risk over something she wasn’t even sure would work out. Because as incredible as Oliver was as a friend, Laurel couldn’t trust that he would be a reliable romantic partner.

Oliver Queen was a party boy who spent more time nursing hangovers than he did studying, seemed to have a new girl at his arm every other week or so, a privileged, trustfound brat who had absolutely no care about the consequences of his own actions.

But Oliver was also the boy who held her hand just to show her that he was there for her, the one who punched David Rickards in the face when they were 11 because he had made her cry, who distributed gift baskets to what seemed to be the entire school when Laurel ran for student council president, who would spend long hours on the phone with her when she needed to rant about the pressure her parents would put on her shoulders.

They weren’t officially together. But they were _something_ and everyone knew it. Including Sara.

So no, the revelation of her crush isn’t a surprise. The deep rooted resentment she feels towards Laurel, however, is.

The sudden realization hits her like a slap.

« You –… » Laurel feels an hysterical laugh bubbling inside her and presses the palm of her hand to her forehead, trying to put all this cryptic mess into something more comprehensible. « You think that I –… I don’t even know –… That I somehow _planned_ for Dad to drag you away from that party kicking and screaming, all in one big Machiavellian attempt to sabotage your chances at having a relationship with _Oliver Queen_? »

Sara’s cheeks flush red and Laurel has her answer.

« My God, you think you’re the victim in this, » she breathes out incredulously.

Sara shakes her head. « No, that’s not what I –...»

« That’s exactly what you meant, » Laurel cuts her off. « You see me as the villain of your story. Big bad Laurel who came between you and your true love and forced you to fight for your happy ending. Is that what you told yourself every time the two of you sneaked behind my back? Did that make you feel better, to think that I somehow deserved to be betrayed because I had betrayed you first? Are you serious, Sara? »

Laurel only realizes she’s shouted those last words when they echo in the loud, condemning silence around them. Sara takes a step back, as if slapped.

« That’s truly what you think of me, » Laurel finishes in a defeated murmur.

Shaking her head, she walks past Sara and into her living room, torn between kicking Sara out and shouting at her some more. Her hands form two shaking fists that she keeps tightly pressed to her sides.

God, she needs a drink.

« Do you hate me? »

The question was asked in a small, fearful whisper. Not fear of Laurel, no, but of the answer she might give, of the possibility that she might truly, deeply hate Sara.

Sara, who can’t even seem to face Laurel any longer, keeping her gaze fixed on her shoes, seemingly ready to be kicked out of Laurel’s life for good.

Laurel’s heart clenches painfully in her chest.

« You—…» she starts, a small, uncertain sound escaping her. « You think that I hate you? »

Sara says nothing and Laurel… suddenly feels very tired. Falling back on the couch, she lets out a sigh, rubbing a weary hand down her face.

« I shouldn’t have come, » Sara blurts out after the silence between them stretched out for too long. « I’m sorry, I’ll just—…»

« Shut up, » Laurel says wearily. « Just… please, stop talking. »

It would be so much easier to let Sara walk out of here, close the door behind her and refuse to ever open it again. Let the past stay in the past. Laurel’s earned her fresh start.

Still, it’s never been in her style to take the easy way out.

« You know what Dad used to call me? » She says neutrally. « _The daughter that lived_. »

A shocked silence is her only answer.

Laurel frowns, lost in her memories. « I don’t think he actually meant it, or at least I hope he didn’t. In any case, I tried not to take it too personally. As for Mom… Well, one day, I just got a phone call; she was leaving Dad and moving to Central City. Then nothing for the next 5 years. But I get it, she had her own issues to deal with, what with her knowing about your affair and letting you join Oliver on the Gambit. »

She hears Sara’s sharp intake of breath.

Laurel continues, unperturbed. « They were both heartbroken parents who had just lost their child in one of the most horrific ways possible. Who was I to judge them for the way they handled their grief? Especially since I was part of the reason you had disappeared in the first place. »

« That’s not—…»

« Stop, » Laurel cuts her off firmly. « It’s true. I brought Oliver into our lives. I was completely blind to what was happening right under my nose. If I had been less naïve, if I had been smarter, maybe I could have prevented it, all of it. But I wasn’t and you died as a result. »

« Laurel, no –…»

But Laurel doesn’t let her finish. She can’t. Now that she’s started talking, it’s like the poison that has been infecting her veins ever since the Gambit sank is slowly bleeding out. She feels awful, but lighter.

« I wasn’t allowed to grieve for the man I loved because he was the reason my entire family had been torn apart. I wasn’t allowed to hate him because he was dead. And you—… God, Sara, when I thought that you died on the Gambit, the only thing I could do was just… scream at the ocean. I had so much anger and rage… I didn’t know what to do with it. I didn’t know how to mourn you, how to forgive you, how to resent you for what you did. It was like being stuck in a limbo. »

« It took me a long time to realize it, but I realize now that-…» Laurel’s throat closes up. Still, she forces the words out. « …that I went on that boat with you, too. And I've been slowly drowning for all of these years. And after every heartbreak or set-back or loss... I sank deeper into the dark water. And so when I saw you, so beautiful, and so alive, I realized that I'm not those things. Not anymore. I’m just… I’m damaged. I –…»

A brutal force nearly knocking her off the couch interrupts her and Laurel suddenly finds herself with her arms full of a shaking Sara. She’s entirely frozen for a few seconds, but then it hits her that she has Sara pressed against her, _alive,_ crying with her face tucked into Laurel’s shoulder and smelling the same even after all these years.  
  
 _God, she’s really here_.

The second she wraps her arms around Sara, her sister lets out a quiet sob that makes her sound like a wounded animal and the tears Laurel has been trying so hard to hold back finally fall free, sliding down her cheeks and onto Sara’s golden locks.

« I don’t hate you, Sara, » she whispers, voice full of tremors. « I don’t hate you, I never hated you, I was just so angry, I’m _still_ so damn angry, but I could never hate you. »

« I’m sorry, Laurel, » Sara cries into her shoulder, moving her head to bury it into the crook of Laurel’s neck, as if she’s trying to disappear there, gripping her so tight that it makes her wince. « I am so, _so_ sorry. »

« Shhh, » Laurel tries to sooth her, stroking her hair, pressing her wet cheek against the crown of her head. « We’ll be fine. »

« Will we? »

The answer comes naturally to her. « Of course we will, » she promises, surprised when she realizes that she actually means that promise. « We’re sisters. »

« But can you ever forgive me, Laurel? » Sara insists. « Truly? »

Laurel closes her eyes. She wishes she could say yes instantly, wishes she could rise above her anger and heartbreak and give Sara the answer she so obviously desperately wants to hear. But she can’t lie, she can’t pretend that her sister’s betrayal hadn’t ripped something deep inside of her, not when the wound has been reopened so mercilessly and left her raw.

If they really want to fix their broken relationship, then Laurel has to be honest. « I don’t know, » she says, feeling strangely apologetic. « But I want to, Sara, and I’m going to try. » She kisses the blonde’s head. « I love you too much not to. »

Sara exhales sharply, falling even more into Laurel’s arms if possible, as if an enormous weight has suddenly been lifted off her shoulders.

« And you’re not, you know? » Sara suddenly mutters, voice rasped from all the crying. She doesn’t move her head from Laurel’s shoulder. « Damaged. »

Laurel says nothing at that

« You’re not, » Sara swears with newfound energy, as if it were vital that Laurel understands just how much she means these words. « There’s a reason I’ve been jealous of you all my life. You’re strong, stronger than anyone I’ve ever known, and you losing your way for a little while doesn’t change that. You’re still Perfect Laurel. »

« But I’m not, » Laurel reminds her gently, pushing past the surge of bitterness swallowing up her throat. Sara means well, and Laurel appreciates the gesture, but it’s her inability to see her elder sister for who she truly was that nursed her resentment towards her in the first place. « I’m not perfect and I wish you would stop seeing me that way. »

Sara shakes her head and doesn’t seem deterred by the remonstrance. « Wait, it came out wrong. I’m not saying you’re devoid of flaws, just that they don’t make you any less good than you were before. You’re still here, you’re still fighting when anyone else would have given up by now, still willing to see the good in other people, even those who deserve it the less. » Her tone becomes grave. « I should know. »

« Sara –... »

« I admire you so much, Laurel, » Sara says softly. « Now more than ever. I know it may not mean much but –... »

« It does, » Laurel interrupts her and, dammit, she thought she was done with the tears. « It means the world to me. »

She feels Sara’s smile more than she sees it and the two fall into a comfortable silence, resting and peaceful. Sara’s tight grip on Laurel slowly softens but she doesn’t let go of her hold on her, just lifts her legs on the couch and snuggles more comfortably into her side.

« I’m sorry I brought Ollie with me the other day. » Laurel stiffens. « You were right; we _are_ back together. But I need you to know that –… that it’s not –… It’s not like before, okay? I just … » Sara trails off weakly and Laurel has to force herself to stay still, to allow her sister to finish her thoughts. She supposes it was somehow naive to hope that the subject of Oliver wouldn’t be brought up again, especially since he’s at the center of her issues with Sara.

The blonde sighs. « When I first returned home… I was a mess. I’m still a mess. Coming back to a world that has moved on without me is probably the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. You’re a lawyer, Laurel, and a kickass one from what I’ve heard. The parents are divorced. Mom has a freaking new boyfriend. Everyone went on with their lives, everyone made something out of themselves and I’m still here, only I’m more fucked up than I was 7 years ago. »

_Oh, Sara_.

The thing is, Laurel understands. She understands even if she doesn’t want to, because she knows far too well how terrible it is to feel alone in the world. « And Oliver was the only one who could understand the feeling, » she finds herself saying, not judgmental, not entirely at ease with the idea either. She’s only human, after all.

Sara nods. « He was, » she agrees quietly. « Being with Ollie is … easy. Reassuring. I don’t feel so alone when he’s with me. When you sent that invitation to dinner, I ended up asking him to come along because, well, truthfully Laurel I felt intimidated by you. »

Laurel lifts both eyebrows, incredulous and perhaps a little bit amused. « What ? »

Sara groans, rubbing her face wearily. « Don’t judge me. »

« I’m not ! » Laurel rushes to say. « I just –… Why? »

There’s no answer at first, so Laurel runs her fingers through her sister’s soft locks, an unspoken reassurance that she truly isn’t judging her for her feelings, no matter how ridiculous they could appear.

« I was scared to face you, I guess, » Sara finally reveals, sounding embarrassed. « Despite everything, despite me trying to convince myself that I had my reasons, I knew that what I had done to you was unforgivable. I didn’t want to face your scorn and your judgment. »

Laurel hums thoughtfully.

« You were scared, » she says. « And you needed support. I suppose I can understand that. »

Sara suddenly tightens her grips on Laurel, making her suppress a wince. She’s is certainly stronger than Laurel remembers, No matter. Nothing in the universe could force her away from this embrace.

Nothing but Sara’s next words.

« I’ll leave him. »

Laurel’s eyes widen in stupefaction. Grabbing Sara’s shoulders, she puts some distance between them to look at her directly, thrown by the hard and resolute expression starring back at her.

« I’m serious, Laurel, » Sara insists so strongly that Laurel has no choice but to believe her. « If that’s what it takes, if that’s the one thing keeping me from having my sister back in my life, then I’ll leave him. I don’t need Oliver. But I do need you. »

« That’s not fair, Sara, » Laurel admonishes gently. « You can’t put this on my shoulders. »

« I know, but I am, » Sara answers fiercely. « I love him, but he’s not worth losing you. »

Laurel’s breath hitches in her throat. _Love him_.

« No, you don’t have to do that, » she ends up saying softly. « I’m not going to lie, Sara, I will never be entirely okay with you and Oliver. And no, it’s not because I still have feelings for him. There’s just too much history there. » The light in Sara’s eyes dims a little and she starts to nod, as if willing to accept Laurel’s sentence. It makes her sigh. « But I’ve washed my hands off Oliver Queen, and if he makes you happy, if he helps you feel like you belong here, if he makes you _stay_ , then I won’t stand in your way. » Hesitantly, she cups her sister’s face and her lips twitch into a small, but sincere smile. « I promise, it’s fine with me. Just –… Give me some time, okay? »

Sara’s face positively glows, green eyes wet and shining beautifully. Laurel wipes out her tears and Sara leans into her touch, grabbing Laurel’s hand and keeping it against her face.

« Thank you, » she says with a shaky voice. « Thank you, Laurel. »

A small smile appears on her face. As Sara falls back into her arms, seemingly devoid of her last shreds of energy, Laurel’s eye catch sight of the photo album still lying innocently on her coffee table.

The ache in her chest grows sharper.

Thankfully, Laurel’s long since mastered the art of handling the pain.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone!
> 
> I have been drowning in my Laurel feels today and this chapter came out of it. Tbh, I didn't know if I wanted to post it as it is, because it's a draft more than anything, but I don't have the patience to go over it until I'm satisfied. I didn't even think I would get back to this story, so I'll consider this update as a win :)
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy it! Stay safe out there.

Slowly, ever so slowly, things get better.

Not perfect by any means, but better. Laurel learns to get to know her sister all over again, makes an effort to put aside any biases or resentment she might still hold against Sara, and while she doesn’t always succeed in that endeavor, disregarding those negative feelings becomes easier as they both turn into integral parts of each other’s lives once more.

Still, if there’s one thing that this tentative reconciliation of theirs has shown is that it’s now painfully clear that Sara has been irrevocably changed by her time away.

Laurel can’t even begin to explain it. It’s in the vacant eyes staring at nothing as Sara loses herself in her thoughts. The almost always tensed posture that seems ready for a fight even in the most peaceful environments. The insistence that Laurel doesn’t walk the streets of Starling alone after a certain hour which, frankly, is ridiculous considering that she knows this city like the back of her hand.

Simply put, Sara seems to be simultaneously protective and exhausted. Dangerous even when on the verge of being shattered. There’s a strength clinging to her that strangely reminds Laurel of her most desperate clients back at CNRI, those who came to her as a last legal resort but, should that fail, were ready to burn the whole world to the ground to protect their loved ones. 

It’s hard to reconcile those two different pictures of her little sister. Laurel used to remember Sara as the family’s rebel child, a carefree spirit yearning for the freedom to chase after her dreams, too wild to ever be properly controlled by mere social expectations. And while that wildness is still very much there, it is now tamed by a maturity and wisdom that seem to have been forged in fire. In the pain and suffering that Sara endured while she was away. Laurel is very much aware that there’s a part of her sister’s past that is probably permanently locked to her. Maybe it won’t always be the case, but for now those mysterious pieces of Sara’s story are clearly too painful to be shared.

Sara isn’t ready. So Laurel doesn’t push for more. It works for them.

They don’t talk about Oliver; that’s another one of their unspoken rules. Laurel doesn’t ask about him and, to Sara’s credit, she’s not offered any information either. Sara’s relationship with Oliver exists within its own parameters, separated from her sisterhood with Laurel by seemingly insurmountable barriers. It’s not a very practicable system, that much is certain. For one, if Oliver and Sara are meant to last, then Laurel is eventually going to have to get over herself and learn how to coexist with her ex in the same room. Also, Oliver is Thea’s brother and the young woman is too important for Laurel to lose.

Not for the first time, she wishes their families weren’t so intrinsically linked together. Laurel can’t keep avoiding the man like a plague forever, she knows that, but for now, she just—… she needs more time. Allowing him back into her life just yet isn’t an option.

Which is why she’s more than a little frustrated when Sara asks her if they could _please_ have their now weekly lunch at Verdant because she can’t get out of work and won’t be able to make it to Laurel’s apartment in time.

Laurel’s accepted. Of course she did.

_It’ll be fine_ , she keeps repeating herself as she walks across the empty parking lot of Verdant. _This isn’t even his club anymore_. She gets around the industrial building to reach the backdoor which, as promised, has been left opened for her.

“Hello?” she calls out hesitantly. “Sara?”

“In here!” A familiar feminine voice responds instantly, echoing in the corridor.

Laurel follows the voice to the main room, the sounds of her heels definitely too loud in the empty space. She finds Sara looking busy at the bar, alternating between writing something on a little notebook and squatting down, disappearing behind the large, wooden furniture.

“Am I too early?”

Sara groans. “No, I just suck at this job.”

Laurel lifts an eyebrow. “Now, I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Let’s just say that nepotism has its perks, otherwise Thea never would have hired me.” Sara writes one last thing down on her little black notebook before putting it away, out of sight. “I’m in the mood for some Indian food. That okay?”

“Sure,” Laurel says easily. Her stomach rumbles in agreement.

Sara smiles. “Great! Sin gave me the number to this supposedly amazing place, let me just search for it…”

As Sara disappears once more behind the bar, Laurel takes a moment to look around her, her gaze appearing to automatically focus on the many rows of bottles taking up a large portion of the wall. Full and half full. Seemingly endless lines of alcoholic beverages that call to Laurel, as terrifyingly enticing as any powerful siren’s song.

Her throat aches with need.

“Laurel?”

The uneasiness in Sara’s voice snaps her out of her trance. Laurel blinks, turning her attention back to her now very worried looking sister.

She plasters a smile on her face. “Don’t tell me you’ve lost that number,” she jokes.

Sara hesitates, throwing a guilty glance around her. “I didn’t even think—… I’m sorry, Laurel. We can go elsewhere if you want? There’s a nice food truck at the corner of the street and—”

“No,” Laurel interrupts her, gentle but firm. “Listen. If I didn’t think I could handle a bar, I wouldn’t have come here in the first place.”

“But maybe this is pushing it too far, too soon. You don’t need to prove anything to me.”

A quiet sigh escapes Laurel. “I’m an alcoholic, Sara.” Strangely, it’s become easier each day to admit it. “This isn’t something that’s ever going to go away. I know you’re trying to help, but I need to learn how to live with this, and I can’t do that if you and Dad keep babying me at every turn.”

Sara looks chagrined. “We’re just worried.”

“I know,” Laurel says. “I appreciate it. But you need to stop. _Please_.” Her sister wants to protest, that much is clear, so Laurel quickly cuts her off before she can voice her concerns even more. “How about you practice your bartending skills on me?” Sara’s horrified face makes her snort in amusement. “Relax, a virgin cocktail will be just fine.”

Verdant’s new bartender exhales a breath of relief – which is ridiculous, really – before swatting at Laurel’s arm. “Jerk.”

They’re still laughing when they hear sounds coming from upstairs. A door shutting close. Footsteps making their way to the metallic stairs and descending them quickly. The space around is large enough that each movement of the newcomer echoes loudly in the air, announcing their arrival without an ounce of discretion. Laurel turns, expecting to see Thea, only to freeze on the spot when she finds herself facing the one person she truly didn’t want to see today.

Oliver stops short, blinking a little disbelievingly at her. He opens his mouth, closes it, clearly at loss for words. “ _Laurel_.” There’s a little something sounding too much like amazement in his voice, in the way his grey eyes stay fixated on her face as if he can’t believe she’s really here in front of him.

It nearly makes Laurel flinch.

She greets him back by forcibly stretching her stubbornly stiffed lips into a polite smile. That’s all she’s willing to give him at this point. Turning back to Sara, she’s surprised to see a quiet expression of sadness marring her face as she looks at Oliver.

It makes Laurel frown. Have Sara and Oliver been having problems—…

_No,_ she puts a stop to that line of thinking immediately. _None of my business_.

Still, it doesn’t mean she can’t offer the blonde a little bit of comfort.

Gently covering Sara’s hand with hers, Laurel squeezes her fingers in quiet support. “Found that number yet? I’m starving.”

That tears a small smile out of Sara. She squeezes Laurel’s fingers in turn. “I must have left it in my locker. Be right back.”

“Okay.”

Sara effortlessly hops over the bar under Laurel’s impressed gaze, throwing her a real grin this time when Laurel mumbles a “ _show off_ ” in her direction. The sounds of her boots slowly fade as she walks away from the main lounge and the complete silence she leaves behind is nearly paralyzing in its force.

Laurel is painfully aware that Oliver hasn’t moved an inch. Waits and prays for his retreating footsteps but can only seem to hear her own pounding heart ringing in her ears. The shorts moments they spend at a standstill are felt like an eternity, but Laurel keeps stubbornly quiet, pretending to focus on her phone instead. When Oliver finally makes a move, it ends up being the wrong one and she stops breathing when she hears him coming closer.

_Go away, go away, go away, go the fuck away Oliver_ —…

As if catching her silent prayer, Oliver stops and Laurel bites her lower lip when his footsteps mercifully start to retreat. Finally, the club’s front door opens and slams shut, announcing his departure.

The moment she’s certain to be alone, Laurel just slumps on her chair and sighs in relief, running a frustrated hand through her hair and swallowing back her anxiousness.

She hates that Oliver still has that effect on her.

Hates herself even more for letting him.

* * *

Looking back, Laurel should have known it was too good to be true.

She had been so eager to get back to work, to prove to everyone around her that she was still the fearless lawyer from 2 years ago, that she was still worth _something_. Not only that, but she had also desperately wanted to show a more positive image of herself to Sara – beautiful, passionate Sara who had returned to Laurel’s life when she had been at her absolute worst, a mere shadow of the woman she used to be – and make her see that her big sister could be strong too.

That she could be more than an addict who had destroyed her life by drowning her problems in pills and bottles.

Everyone had tried to warn her, but Laurel didn’t listen. So it’s her fault she’s in this situation, really, watching helplessly as Helena Bertinelli is struggling to escape her aggressor’s strong and unyielding hold, writhing uselessly on the ground.

“Stop!” Laurel shouts at the mysterious woman in black.

Her protector – because she doesn’t know how else to describe this person who seems to have taken upon herself to watch over Laurel at every turn – throws a glance in Laurel’s direction before looking down once more, as if ashamed, but still unwilling to loosen her grip on Helena.

“Stay back,” she orders simply.

“You don’t have to do this,” Laurel pleads, realizing with horror that Helena is about to get her neck snapped. “You’re not a killer.”

“You don’t know who I am, Laurel,” the mysterious woman says, anger and regret twisting her voice. “Not really.”

“Then show me,” Laurel shoots back, using the vigilante’s very own words in a last, desperate attempt to reach her. _If I can be strong, then so can you_.

The mysterious woman tightens her grip on her victim’s neck, ripping agonizing and breathless sounds out of Helena as she’s slowly but surely losing strength, and Laurel is ready to just throw herself onto the duo and stop this madness before it’s too late when the other woman hisses in disgust and abruptly lets go.

Helena falls back onto the ground, inhaling sharply and getting some much needed air into her deprived lungs. The woman in black gets up and looks down at her beaten opponent, hands curling into fists by her side. Laurel eyes them both apprehensively and, in the space of a heartbeat, the three of them stay perfectly still, all of them defeated in their own way.

A loud, agonizing cry coming from further away snaps the vigilante’s attention and, after throwing one last glance at Helena to make sure she stays down, she takes off to join her partner in his fight, leaving Laurel alone with the other woman.

Helena spits out blood and saliva on the cold concrete, rubbing her mouth with the back of her hand. “I bet you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Hit by a sudden wave of pity, Laurel can only shake her head. “No, I—” Her eyes widen in shock as she catches sight of something from the corner of her eye.

Frowning, Helena follows her line of vision and freezes on the spot.

There, barely a few feet away from them, Frank Bertinelli’s lifeless corpse is leaning against one of the containers, abandoned like a mere rag doll carelessly thrown aside.

Bile rises up Laurel’s throat and she presses her hands against her mouth, looking down at the man’s daughter once more.

Helena doesn’t react at first, doesn’t seem to be able to register this new piece of information even when faced with the truth. It only takes a few seconds before pure and unaltered rage twists her features. She starts crawling on the ground, not stopping until she reaches the dead man, gripping his blood stained shirt and shaking him as if she’s hoping to stir him back to life through the force of her fury alone. A broken wail tears out of her throat, too angry to cry, too heartbroken to fight.

Like a ghost coming back from the depths, a flash of Tommy’s body crushed under the ruins of the Glades crosses through Laurel’s mind, the memory akin to a blade slipping between her ribs. The sound of Helena’s muffled scream twists that blade even deeper and Laurel—

Laurel reacts before she even registers doing it.

She rushes to Helena’s side, grabs her by the shoulders to force her to stand up, struggling to keep the other woman in place as she keeps crying and reaching for her dead father’s corpse.

Tensed. “Helena, you’ve got to run.”

“How did this happen—”

“There’s nothing you can do for him—”

“It should have been _my kill_ —”

“Please, just get out of here—”

“This isn’t what I wanted—”

“Listen to me, you have to go!”

“ _Why are you doing this?!_ ” Helena practically shrieks over the sounds of gunshots and the fighting happening in the background, eyes wild and fingers digging into Laurel’s forearms. She’s shaking all over but is unwilling to be pushed towards safety despite Laurel’s best efforts, an immovable force rooted too deep into the earth to be moved.

Heart in her throat, Laurel can just stare at Helena helplessly.

_Why_ is she doing this?

Helena is a criminal. A killer. Someone who’s given herself permission to become both jury and executioner, taking the lives of those she had deemed guilty. Someone who’s hurt innocent people in her bloodthirsty pursuit for vengeance. Someone who had threatened Laurel more than once and nearly got her father killed in her quest to destroy the Bertinelli patriarch.

But she is a victim herself, the object of her ire is already dead and Laurel just can’t seem to forget the woman she had met at that dinner, all those years ago. Uncomfortable in her own skin, struggling to be happy, and yet trying so hard to fit in despite her past weighting her down every step of the way.

Helena doesn’t need prison. She needs a chance to finally live.

“Because you’re more than the darkness you let inside,” is all Laurel says instead. The words are terribly inadequate, but they feel right, and she wills Helena to understand them, to grasp this one last helpful hand that is reaching towards her.

She can’t explain it to her, can’t even begin to explain it to herself, but Laurel _needs_ Helena to survive this. She needs the other woman to show her that— … that she too can—…

Helena’s fingers loosen their grip on Laurel, her voice filled with tremors, a mere whisper in the dark. “Are we?”

Eyes wet, Laurel just shakes her head. _Please, show me that we’re not beyond saving_.

What she’s doing goes against everything she’s ever believed in, it goes against her duty as an ADA, but Laurel knows deep into her bones that it’s the right thing to do.

“Go,” she repeats firmly, pushing Helena away.

The other woman takes one step backwards. Then another. She stares at Laurel with a lost look on her bruised face, but at some point her survival instincts seem to kick in because she turns around and runs away without looking back. Wordlessly, Laurel watches her disappear at the corner of a building.

_Please, don’t let me be wrong on this one._

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

Laurel swallows hard at the distorted sound of the Arrow’s voice. Squaring her shoulders, she turns to face him and makes the deliberate choice to take a single step to the side, putting herself firmly between the man and his prey.

The steadiness of her voice surprises even her. “Please, let her go.”

She’s is under no illusions. A short head start won’t keep Helena safe from the Arrow’s wrath and if he wants to find her, he will. By all account, they _both_ should be fighting to ensure that the last member of the Bertinelli family is finally judged for her crimes and punished accordingly. But something in the way the vigilante was pleading with his former partner a few minutes ago tells Laurel that she’s not the only one who believes that there’s still good in Helena, that she might be worthy of redemption.

Finally, the Arrow takes a step back in silent agreement and Laurel lets out a short exhale of relief, tension draining from her limbs.

“Is this really a burden you want on your shoulders?” the vigilante says, more of a warning than a true question. Any innocent’s blood Helena might draw after tonight will be sorely on Laurel’s hands.

She doesn’t let herself look away. “Let her go,” she repeats instead, voice soft and pleading.

So engrossed in their stare off, Laurel doesn’t realize that the fight has now stopped and it takes her father calling out her name in panic and grabbing her into a bear hug to finally look away from the Arrow.

“Are you alright?!” Quentin asks, breathless from his run.

“I’m fine, dad,” Laurel reassures him, gladly accepting his embrace.

“Did she hurt you? Are you hurt?” he repeats, looking around him frantically. “Where’s Bertinelli?”

Laurel casts her eyes down, leaning into Quentin’s shoulder to hide her guilty expression. “She escaped,” is all she says, praying with everything that she has that the Arrow doesn’t call her out on her lie.

Miraculously, he doesn’t.

Sounds of police sirens reach their small group. Out of nowhere, the mysterious woman in black appears next to the Arrow. “We’ve got to go.” Her partner doesn’t move at first, still silently appraising Laurel and probably wondering if she’s back on drugs, when a hand forcedly grabbing his elbow finally tears his attention away. “Arrow, we need to leave. _Now_.”

Nodding, the Arrow throws one last glance in Laurel’s direction before running away from the scene, his new partner easily keeping up with him. Laurel and Quentin watch as the duo disappears into the safety of the night, as elusive as shadows.

Later, much later, after the police’s taken their statements and started wrapping up the crime scene, Laurel says nothing as they take Frank Bertinelli’s body away, feeling her heart constrict painfully in her chest and hoping to god that she hasn’t made a terrible mistake. 

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my first language, so I apologize for any grammatical error or spelling mistake you may have found during your reading.


End file.
